Dilandau Should Never Get Drunk
by InsanelyHappy
Summary: Folken's wine goes missing, and a certain pyromaniac gets drunk. Just random silliness. Rated for a few swears. One-shot, complete.


By InsanelyHappy

A/N: My first Escaflowne fan fiction. It's nothing special, but it was fun to write. Just some random silliness. I hope that you enjoy it.

Disclaimer: I do not own the Vision of Escaflowne in any way or form. Also, there is a brief reference to the Lord of the Rings (obviously not mine).

**Dilandau Should Never Get Drunk**

Running his metal claw through his spiky blue hair, Folken stared in puzzlement at the empty table in his private quarters. After conducting a thorough search of the room, there was no doubt about it. Somebody had stolen his wine. Not a man to lose his cool, Folken tranquilly left in search of the culprit. But, rest assured, when Folken found the bastard, heads were going to roll. No one came between a man and his liquor.

* * *

The dragon slayers were huddled in a circle, conspiring rather suspiciously. 

"Do you have a… Five?" Miguel asked.

"Nope. Go fish," Chesta replied triumphantly.

"Damn," Miguel muttered, picking up another card. Counting his hand, he cursed again. _Twenty-seven cards. How was that possible? _"Hey!" he began to protest.

"Shut up," Dallet commanded. "It's my turn."

Just as an all out brawl was about to break loose, Folken arrived at the scene. "You," he said coolly, "Gatty."

"Yes, sir?" Gatty squeaked rather nervously. It wasn't often that Folken spoke to them.

"Who has my wine?" Folken asked nonchalantly.

"Wine, sir? There's no wine here. Ever since that time when Miguel got drunk…" Gatty began to reply, when he was cut off.

"Hey!" Miguel cried in horror, "you said that you wouldn't tell!"

Folken eyed the group suspiciously. As the dragon slayers broke out into howls of laughter, grinning wickedly at the blushing face of Miguel, Folken judged that they spoke the truth. _These fools couldn't keep a secret if their lives depended on it_, Folken deducted. And then a truly terrible thought indeed struck him. His normally pale face paled a shade further. "Where's Dilandau?" he rasped.

All laughter stopped immediately, as each of the dragon slayer's face turned a sickly shade of grey.

"Oh, shit!" Viole gasped in horror.

In unison, the dragon slayers leapt to their feet, and the playing cards went flying through the air as the boys sprinted through the halls. Even Folken, who preferred to keep a composed manner, picked up the pace so that he walked briskly after the panicked mob.

* * *

In his room, a certain pyromaniac teetered on the edge of his chair. Playing with the hem of his fluffy pink dress, Dilandau tugged at the lace appreciatively. "Jajuka, don't you like it?" he said, batting his eyelashes in a manner which he obviously thought was extremely seductive. 

Jajuka shifted uncomfortably. "Yes, of course, Lord Dilandau." _What was he supposed to say to something like that?_ "Might I ask where you got it?"

Dilandau beamed up at Jajuka. "I took it from Chesta's room," he replied earnestly.

Jajuka frowned. _I'll have to talk with Chesta about this._

Taking a swig of the wine bottle in his hand, Dilandau giggled happily as the plum colored liquid dribbled down his chin. "What luck," he crowed in delight, "what luck!"

"Lord Dilandau," Jajuka said, "I think you've had quite enough." Reaching to take the bottle from the drunken lad, he recoiled from the knife that Dilandau had produced from beneath the table.

"Ah-ah," Dilandau scolded drunkenly as he stabbed the knife into the table. "No touchies!" Rubbing his cheek against the cool glass of the wine bottle, he cooed, "My precious… My precious…"

Jajuka shifted worriedly. _What do I do?_ he fretted. _I can't risk harming him, but if he continues this way he may end up hurting himself._ "Please, Lord Dilandau, see reason," he begged. "Put down the liquor."

Dilandau glared at the dog man through bleary red eyes. "You'd like that, wouldn't you?" he snarled accusingly. "And then what! You'd steal it!" Despite being falling down drunk, he had somehow retained his good grammar.

"No, I won't!" Jajuka protested. "Just put down the bottle."

Suddenly, the door smashed open with a crash. Tumbling through, the dragon slayers broke out into an incoherent babble. Among the mix, the occasional "Dear Lord!", "We're all going to die!", and "Hey! That's my foot!" could be heard.

Shoving the distressed boys out of the way, Folken made his way to the front. "What's going on here?" he asked smoothly, although it was quite clear to him what had happened. Dilandau had snuck into Folken's room, stolen the wine, and then gotten himself thoroughly and utterly drunk.

Fixing his eyes on Folken, which was a task in itself as Folken seemed to be swaying about constantly, Dilandau grinned. "Why, hello, Lord Poopy Pants! Would you like some tea? Me and Jajuka here were just having some crumpets, too."

Folken resisted the urge to strangle the boy right then and there. Keeping up his calm demeanor, he ignored that he had just been called Lord Poopy Pants, even as the dragon slayers giggled behind him. "No thanks," he drawled. "I would like my wine back though." Extending his hand, he twitched his figures impatiently. "Now, if you don't mind."

Dilandau immediately hunched his shoulders defensively over the precious item. "No!" he wailed. "It's mine!"

Folken scowled. Things had gone far enough. Reaching over, he tapped the boy's exposed neck with one of his metal nails, injecting a drug into Dilandau's bloodstream.

The effects took place instantly. Dilandau's eyes drooped shut, and he fell onto the floor fast asleep, still clutching his prize as he snored.

Ignoring the protests of concern from Jajuka and the dragon slayers, Folken pried the bottle from Dilandau's clutching grasp, and left the room without some much as a backward glance. It was times like these that gave Folken a pounding head ache. Perhaps he would try to drown it away with the remaining fifth of wine.

* * *

When Dilandau came to, he was alone, tucked securely in his bed. The lamp in the corner of his room, although it was emitting only the dimmest of glows, burned his eyes. Moaning, he sat up slowly, and the rustle of the blankets seemed to be amplified one thousand fold. Squinting his eyes against the light and the pounding head ache of his hangover, he staggered out of bed and made his way over to the mirror.

* * *

"Go fish," Viole chuckled. 

Jajuka growled and snatched up another card. "Alright, so now whose turn is it?"

Just as the dragon slayers were about to explain the rules yet again, a shriek cut through the air.

"_Why am I wearing a dress?_" the horrified voice of Dilandau screamed from down the hall.

Everyone in the group winced.

"I'd say that it's your turn," Miguel chuckled. "Have fun explaining this one to Lord Dilandau."

* * *

A/N: The end! Completed on March 30, 2005. Like it? Hate it? Send in your reviews! 

Last edited on February 10, 2006.


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